


Five Ways the Avengers Fled to the West (And One of Them Who Didn’t)

by secretagentsmutgirl



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe- Communism, Alternate Universe- Olympics, Clint is in fact taller than Tony, Clint is not that short, F/M, Hulk Smash Puny Checkpoint, Is this your brothers passport, M/M, Multi, No Big Deal Anti-Aircraft Missiles, Not a paradox for the last time!, Shut Up Stark!, The above five tags were required for this challenge, There is nothing Clint Barton can’t climb, This is what happens when you go on vacation with fandom friends: consider yourselves warned, Tony Stark fails stealth forever, Track Shorts, Track Shorts Threesomes, Wibbly Wobbly Timey Whimey, You do remember I am Russian yes?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentsmutgirl/pseuds/secretagentsmutgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony makes bad decisions, this is a given. Science leads to accidental time travel, which is a surprise. Thank god it's a summer Olympics year. (1980 East German Remix)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Decisions Abound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdaptationDecay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdaptationDecay/gifts).



> This challenge began when I woke up in a hotel in Berlin with a sheet of hotel stationary that read the above title of this fic and the first five tags. Don't worry, I had returned the favor in the form of a similar challenge. (To be completed before I die, the author assures me). We were traveling sans technology and this fic was born on various trains and planes, scribbled into a notebook or whatever was handy. I hope the sleepless, slap happy spirit in which this was born shines through. I apologize for any editing mishaps, I need an fourth set of eyes to freshen this up.

**_Stark Industry CEO Caught Cuddling With Cap?_ **

Tony Stark had been staring at the headline blankly since he had noticed the paper on the workbench, the first thing to catch his attention in the ten hours he had been puttering around his workshop post-battle, intent on upgrading _something_. Regardless of the reason for his dive into his frankly magnificent workshop, the headline glared up at him, along with the photo of Pepper and Steve at a gallery opening that Tony had deemed the height of boredom, thus enabling the super soldier to super weasel his girl into his arms.

This thought process made Tony’s frown turn into a scowl.

They looked a little too cozy. Pepper’s smile was genuine and Steve looked relaxed, making Tony wonder- _who knew he could look relaxed_! It was a revelation. So was the nagging insecurity of setting up his girl with Captain America for any reason whatsoever. Insecurity was not a good look on him; in fact that whole idea was a mid 80’s flashback that he thought had been left firmly back at MIT or drowned under a metric ton of single malt whisky.

No. Tony considered. There it was.  

_Insecurity_.

He ground his teeth, motioning for Dummy to bring the blowtorch away from the bench to use for a different application.  Within seconds the morning edition of The Bugle was a smear of ash on his desk.

“Huh.”  He felt strangely better, even if the innocuous picture was imprinted behind his eyelids. It wasn’t as if he doubted Pep, or thought Steve capable of that type of machination so much as the fact that it has elicited an emotional reaction. It had made him jealous. Sick jealous, ready to pitch a fit and take his toys and go home kind of jealous. Maybe create a mess that Pepper or Steve, or both had to clean up to prevent an international incident jealous.

All in all it seemed worth it to the billionaire, even if the nagging question in his mind was this- was he jealous that Steve was with Pepper or that Pepper was with Steve?

Tony cleared his throat, causing his bots to take up attentive stances. “That’s an uncomfortable revelation.”

Luckily Dr. Doom saved him the trouble of actually causing an international incident for distraction purposes, unleashing a swarm of scarab like bots on Central Park that stripped the foliage from the trees in less than five seconds and had started to gnaw on the surrounding buildings before Thor had thought to call down the mighty power of Valhalla, or whatever.

 Honestly, the last thing he had wanted to do was answer Fury’s call, but he was a superhero after all. Also, someone on the team had to bring the swag. _Even if that apparently wasn’t enough of a credential in his house anymore_.

Tony Stark did not get jealous, he made people jealous. Jealous and angry. Also irrational, but definitely jealous. _Irrationally jealous._  He had always been an overachiever.  Tony admitted to himself that he had to keep his hands busy or his brain was going to drive him crazy. More crazy. Strike that-  _more awesome_. Considering the tiny mechanical bot, well it looked more like a Quidditch Snitch than a proper bot, but the more he looked at it seemed stupidly simple. He had the irresistible urge to take it apart.

He had never been particularly good with impulse control.

Regarding the tiny bot on its ad hoc autopsy table, he picked it up and held it aloft. “150 points to Slytherin. It’s time to bring the science.”

Two hours into re-engineering the jet black mini Doombot from hell, Tony had to admit that Latverian technology made no sense whatsoever. Like, producing the type of ass-backwards engineering that made Asgard and their batshit “magic” artifacts that seemed to fall on the Earth like god damn raindrops seem run of the mill- logical even.

“What kind of name is Doctor Doom, when we all know who you are Victor,” Tony muttered, screwdriver firmly held between his teeth. “Anyone who considers Mr. So-Called-Fantastic his nemesis has to be batshit. Am I right?”

Next to him, fire extinguisher at the ready, Dummy seemed to nod in agreement.

“Right. Note to self: stop talking to the bots.”

Be that as it may, the super villain had presented the billionaire superhero savant with a bit of a puzzle and one hell of a distraction from having to think. The tiny bot had come part into about two hundred small clockwork parts to reveal a center of nonferrous, dark metal that made the hair on his arms stand straight up when touched. Scans had shown mass, but nothing contained within. There were no seams, no catches, no rhyme or reason to the tiny power source and the challenge had ceased being challenging and had crossed over into being straight out, balls to the wall obsession.

He had tried sciencing the hell out of the bot for hours to no avail. Science was failing him, the dirty traitor.  A half bottle of bourbon later and he was ready for less above board methods. That called for reinforcements. It was hammer time.

Tony pulled the screwdriver from his mouth and glanced at his pathetically empty coffee mug. “JARVIS, get me Thor!”

“Right away, sir,” his AI responded crisply, the ever present shade of very British censure in his voice. Tony frowned. Pepper had always been his favorite. Idly, he wondered what JARVIS thought about Steve- maybe Steve and Pepper. Would he lose JARVIS in the divorce?

Tony cleared his throat, refocusing. “Stop. Bad train of thought, back to science!”

Two hours, two bathroom breaks and four espressos later he could verify that the tiny heart of darkness did not bounce, did not break under pressure from Moljner and that it tasted awful. That particular test had been an accident and entirely the fault of Thor’s over exuberance.

The God of Thunder was most impressed, stopping all science periodically to give the sphere another taste of his strength, to no avail. “Friend Tony, we have magic such as this on Asgard. It is a worthy task to discover its secrets and unravel the puzzle.”

“We’re on to something, Big Guy.” Tony considered. “We need something stronger. Maybe a little Hulk Smash! JARVIS, get me Banner.”

“Sir, Doctor Banner has not returned from SHEILD. Would you like me to request his presence through his communication device, or shall I put my programing to better use and suggest a brief recess in disassembling the bot.”

Not for the first time Tony wondered why he’d given his AI the capacity for sass. “Be a darling, and get me Banner.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

One hour, ten text messages and another cup of coffee found Tony suited up as Iron Man while Thor held the heart of the Doombot out in the palm of his hand.  The lab was in disarray, even taking into consideration what a disaster area it was on a regular basis.

When Bruce finally made it to the lab he was momentarily taken aback by the destruction.  “Did a bomb go off in here?”

“Not yet,” Tony called back, without taking his eyes away from the wiring he was tweaking in Dummys control panel. “Just wait.”

“Why are you still in the lab?” Bruce was incredibly stealthy for a man who turned into a raging, green weapon of mass destruction. “You missed the debriefing. Fury was angrier than normal.”

Tony ignored all mention of Fury and by default their team leader of the pleasingly tight pants and girlfriend wooing with all _the art_ and _the tallness_ and _the ma’ams_. Taking his time, he closed up Dummy before lining up his repulsors with the sphere. Even Thor remained consumed by the task at hand. The erstwhile god was incredibly good at being single minded, he focused on bloody battle and toasting pop tarts with the same zeal.

 Bruce idly picked up the casing of the dismantled bot from the abandoned workstation. He let his eyes wander over the test results still displayed above the table. A sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. “Have you been wearing the armor the whole time? Tell me you’re not using the armor as an energy source.”

“Wait, what?” Tony blinked, looked down at his armored state and blinked again. “No, of course not. Not really. It’s on for reasons. Reasons relating to science and not for dangerous purposes. Controlled experiment. Completely safe.”

When he smiled it was all teeth.

 Bruce winced. It was never good when it sounded like Tony didn’t believe himself.

“What are you attempting to blow up?” Bruce glanced idly for the nearest exit. Dummy stood on call to his right, newly upgraded in some way with a fire extinguisher at the ready. Thor, who was to his right and looking solemn. “The magic sphere at the heart of Doom’s tiny mechanical minions had proven a worthy challenge.”

Sinking feeling turns into straight up dread in an instant.

_Code Tony._

“The bot we battled today that Doom kept ominously referring to as the destroyer of history? “ Bruce cleared his throat and wrung his hands. Neither Thor nor Tony seemed to notice the tense set of his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. JARVIS?”

“Yes, Dr. Banner?”

 It was slightly terrifying when the AI’s voice sounded like salvation.  “Alert Cap, before it’s too late.”

“Already done, but I fear it has been too late for some time. It may be prudent to evacuate non-essential staff from the Tower, if I may suggest?”

“Did you try Pepper?”

“I am afraid that Miss Potts has proven to be unreachable at this time.”

Bruce groaned. “We’re all going to die this time, aren’t we?”

“That seems likely, sir.”

“What is he doing?” Natasha asked before JARVIS could give him the statistics on imminent death, popping up without a sound and scaring Bruce out of his skin. She seemed unperturbed by his discomfort and the probable appearance of the Other Guy, casing the scene with disinterested eyes. “Fury wants Stark’s report on the last mission as well as the tech he took from the scene.”

“Fury can have it, but first whatever this is needs to be stopped,” Bruce answered, waving a hand in the direction of the makeshift fucked-up William Tell situation unfolding in front of them. “Like before we all die.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow as Clint materialized beside her. Unlike his stoic counter-part, Hawkeye was quick to be alarmed by the danger at hand even if he appeared as dispassionate as ever. “What new kind of hell is this?”

“We are applying the glorious power of the Man of Iron to our tiny foe from this afternoon,” Thor supplied with good cheer.

Clint blinked several times before grinding out, “What the fucking fuck, Stark. Bad plan.”

“Great story, Bro.” Tony deadpanned, firing up the suit with a rumble. “Tell it again after I finish this last experiment. Next time you can hold the heart of darkness.”

“What’s going on here?” Enter Captain America stage right, looking every inch the hero..

Tony wondered idly when he had granted everyone in the known world access to his workshop. He had probably been drinking.

Cap immediately attempted to take charge of the impending shit show.  He took in the tableau as well as the panic on the face of their potential giant green rage monster. “Iron Man, stand down.”

Bruce could have wept at the sight of Captain America.

Steve was still in full uniform, just returned from SHIELD and looking worse for wear. Tony gave him an appreciative once over before remembering that his crazy brain couldn’t be trusted, _and neither could Steve_ , before letting loose the full power of Iron Man on the tiny sphere. For a moment it seemed to glow, absorbing the power of the repulsors as it had all other force before it began to vibrate and release the energy outward in a blinding supernova of pure energy.

It was beautiful… and terrible.

Way more terrible.

_Fuck._

Before he lost consciousness Tony managed a wholehearted, “Oops.”

 


	2. The Past Isn't Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up in an unfamiliar place. This is also the first sentence of his memoirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot doesn't so much thicken as present itself for the first time. Luckily Natasha takes everything in stride.

When Tony woke up in an unfamiliar place he did what any urbane man of the world would do: sit straight up, shout and jump out of bed.

Upon reflection more of a cot and less of a bed, and more of a scream like a girl than a shout and sitting up was kind of rough. Luckily there were no witnesses. Curveball, he was in his armor sans helmet so range of motion not so great.  

Huh.

Tony took stock of his physical well-being: not hung-over or even still drunk. Dark, sore, not dead or bleeding- so better than usual.  He considered his surroundings. The room was tiny, with dingy cement walls that had probably been a nice cream color at one time before a billion or so cigarettes had been smoked with the windows closed. It looked like type of desolate barracks you’d seen in old Soviet film reels.

Or someplace in the darkest depths of SHEILDs seventh ring of hell.

The rickety bed he had exited was the only furnishing other than the heavy blinds blocking the window, and a maroon medical curtain pulled away from the door. On the wall an analog clock had been at six-thirty when it gave up the ghost. Not helpful in the least. _Story of his life._

Tony wracked his brain for his last memory.

“Fighting Doom in the Park. Doombots. Oh. _Oh.”_

In all fairness, he knew better than to science while overtired and drinking even if that rarely (or never) stopped him doing both. Involving Thor was just madness. It was time to give JARVIS a new lockdown parameter. Or twelve. Also to tighten up who had access to the lab, to just him. Maybe Pep. Definitely Pep, unless he wanted to die crushed under one of his bots in the not so distant future.

Tony sighed and scratched at his goatee, before scrubbing at his face with his palms and musing outloud, “Ok, we’ve woken up in worse place, assuming this is a place. It has to be a place.”

Two hell dimensions in a row would be dirty even for Doom. Or Loki. Or the Master. Not that any of them appeared to be too concerned with form or originality. Which was kind of the depressing aspect of the superhero business, they really deserved a higher grade of villains- _but that was incredibly off topic._

Reason through this.

Maybe he wasn’t dead or in a hell dimension. Maybe in custody? Seemed like Fury’s M.O., but he would be here in all his eye-patched glory, attempting to induce suit-wetting. Not SHIELD, then. AIM? Unlikely. He glanced around the bare room. “Too state of the art so HAMMER is out, also. Now I’m talking to myself out loud, _like you do_.”

“Does madness run in your family, Stark?”

Natasha seemed to materialize out of the shadows, or from behind the curtain maybe, which no matter how many time he witnessed it he found unsettling as hell.

Tony flashed his most casual grin at her, attempting to look at ease standing in the middle of a dark room half in Iron Man armor with no clue how he had gotten there _wherever there was_.  “Black Widow. Natalie? Natasha? You’re looking particularly deadly this morning. Day. Evening?”

He squinted at the Black Widow’s rumpled appearance. Her hair was out of place and there was a smudge of dust on her left cheekbone. Unusual. Trouble? “Kill anyone yet today or is it my lucky day? Or is it night. I really have no idea. Help me out here.”

Natasha considered his rambling for a moment longer than was comfortable, and Tony could feel himself begin to slouch. She always won this game. There was a pool running at SHEILD that the Black Widow could stare down a starving tiger into submission, which Clint kept attempting to prove that he had witnessed but so far no one had paid out.

“Afternoon. It’s 1300 local time.” She frowned as she looked him over, eying the armor. “Can you remove that without your AI?”

Tony looked down at his armor blankly. “Nope. That’s kind of inconvenient isn’t it?”

Natasha gave him a dark look, just shaded with the type of suffering that he often found so endearing when Pepper wore it- which was a lot. It was much scarier on Natasha. That was probably because Natasha was scary.

“We’re going to have to smuggle you out of the building. You can’t be seen in that, but it’s not safe to leave it behind, either.”

Tony got the feeling that she wasn’t so much talking to him as at him, so he interrupted. “Tell me more about this building. It’s kind of a shithole. What are we facing here, terrorists? Reporters? Am I too recognizable? I was voted one of People Magazine’s Most Beautiful this year. Again.”

For the last dozen years actually, but he didn’t want to boast.

“This has nothing to do with you specifically.” Natasha gave him a heavy look. “It has to do with too much technology.”

Stop. Huh?

“Bite your tongue, woman. You really aren’t human are you? Technology is what separates us from the animals, cave dwellers! Too much technology!” Tony managed to look scandalized despite his incredible bedhead and half armored state. He also still managed to gesticulate wildly. “There is no such thing!”

“Keep your voice down,” Natasha ordered, ignoring his outburst.

She glanced down at her watch. Analog, he noticed, as though proving a point. “There was in the Soviet Union.”

Tony’s brain started formulating dozen or so quips about Soviet Russia before it caught up with the conversation. “Wait, what?”

“Today is May 2nd, 1980 and we are in East Berlin. Where we are standing in this building is approximately ten meters from the checkpoint to the west.” She motioned towards the window. “It’s not a lie.”

“How is it not a lie? That was more than thirty years ago.”

She motioned towards the shaded window pointedly a second time, as though _of course outside was Berlin AND THE PAST_. Tony looked dubious but moved obediently to the window and pulled the heavy shade aside in a swift motion, as though acting petulantly would unsettle the Black Widow or prove her wrong faster. It didn’t, as it turned out, but the action did result in unsettling him more than a little.

At first glance the view from the window revealed a sunny day, with not a cloud in the sky. There was no moving traffic on the street below but he could tell they were in a city. At second glance there were blocks and blocks of unfeeling concrete buildings as far as the eye could see in either direction, with an enormous dividing wall cleaving one half of a city _that was not New York_ in two.

Dividing wall.

The past. Berlin.

Holy shit time travel.

“Let me get this straight. That is the Berlin wall.” Tony dropped the blinds and regarded Natasha, who looked impassive as usual. “As in torn down in 1989, Star Wars, Reganomics? As in more than twenty years ago, as in baby Tony Stark is currently making MIT professors wet themselves and itty bitty Black Widow is learning 14 ways to kill a man with a matchbook in Cyrillic?”

The redhead ignored him. What was it with redheads in his life? That reminded him- he should warn Clint about the hidden dangers of Steve Rogers. Cap might have a type. Bad train of thought. Luckily, Natasha interrupted his crazy.

“This shouldn’t be a problem; we have several contingency plans in place for such an event.” Natasha checked her watch again before crossing her arms over her chest. “We got lucky this time. It’s a summer Olympic year.”

Tony blinked, her words not parsing. Olympic year. 1980. “Sorry. Does not compute. The 1980 Summer Olympics were in Moscow, not Berlin. Dream Team? Cold War hockey smack down behind the Iron Curtain. Ring a bell?“

Natasha looked nonplussed, which was really starting to drive him crazy. Tony continued undeterred by the robot like emotional range of his conversation partner. “How is this relevant to the time paradox we are currently rocking?”

“You’re not in Boston and I’m not in Petrograd, there will be no paradox.”

Which made perfect sense, if you allowed for the idea of paradoxes- which nature did not, in theory. More sense than time travel at least.

“Are you telling me that you were trained to consider time travel? Never mind, of course you were. This doesn’t even surprise me. Where are the others? Does Cap even know about the East Berlin? Tell me he wasn’t in uniform when all the timey-whimey stuff went boom.”

Tony considered the ramifications of Steve being a man out of time _again_.  “I hope he was in the uniform.”

“It’s being taken care of.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Steve has been given civilian clothes. Barton should be bringing him here soon.”

As if on cue there were footsteps outside the doorway, followed by a series of short staccato knocks. Natasha seemed pleased with the knocking pattern, amusing in a 1940’s noir espionage way, and released the lock on the door.

When the door opened it wasn’t Clint on the other side, but Bruce clad in a super dated and form fitting purple tracksuit. There was a decidedly uncomfortable set to his shoulders and for Bruce to look _even more ill at_ _ease_ than usual was notable, Tony didn’t think anyone could be that tense without actually combusting. The track suit was something, though and Tony barked out a laugh before he could stop himself, unable to stop the grin that formed. “Nothing in green?”

Bruce smiled wryly in return. “Don’t worry cupcake, yours matches.”

Tony turned his attention to the smirking Black Widow. “We’re hiding the armor under a purple tracksuit? Really? That’s your stealth plan? _Fine._ I prefer red and gold, but purple is the new black. They say that it’s slimming.”

She just kept smirking. Ominous. So very ominous.

“Wait until you see the others.” Bruce took a seat on the cot and took the time to clean his glasses with the sleeve of his amazing purple tracksuit.  Addressing Natasha, he apologized. “They are right behind me, it took so long because Thor was hard to dress and Clint is sulking.”

“Clint sulking was factored into the timing,” she responded glibly. “We have some wiggle room.”

There was another complicated knock on the door and Bruce slid the lock again to admit Clint, Thor and Steve.  They all looked downright _Banneresque_ in their discomfort, the sheer oddity of which made Tony grin like Christmas had come early. What they were wearing made him just want to squeal like a girl and point. “Oh. _Oh!_ It’s a summer Olympic year.”

The assembled managed to slouch even more, to his delight. “That’s just, well fantastic really. Forget what the history books say- the gold medal is definitely going to East Germany.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: more track shorts, Clint sulks mightily and a Trebant.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Westward Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony joins the tracksuit club. Tiny shorts are admired. Natasha outlines "the plan".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter of unadulterated Cold War crack!fic where it continues to be the Tony show- like it tends to be when Tony Stark is involved. This was written before realizing that Norway boycotted the Moscow Olympics, but some athletes competed under the Olympic flag. Strangely, I now have 1980 Olympic head cannon. This is posted un-beta'd, all apologies.

Tony couldn’t stop staring.

He was barely containing his gleeful laughter and was silently proud of his restraint. Clint and Steve glowered under Tony’s scrutiny, with Clint looking more murderous and Steve looking more embarrassed, while Thor looked more amused than normal.

These looks were only amplified by the tiny and very shiny qualities of the track and field shorts they were sporting.

“Is anyone else a little hot?” Tony mimed fanning himself. “Just me?”

Natasha shot Tony a warning look, which he promptly ignored. “Could be those shorts. Do you feel hot, Cap? You look hot.”

_If only Pepper could see him now._ Tony blinked. Not such a bad thought, he had to digest that. “When we get back, please keep the shorts. It would be unpatriotic to deny the world. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

“Stark, shut the hell up.” Clint snapped, while Steve slouched and tried to disappear in way impossible for a giant blonde super soldier wearing tiny shorts. Natasha held out her hand to Clint, and he passed her a bundle of purple cloth that she then handed to Tony.

“Purple tracksuit? For me? You shouldn’t have, really you shouldn’t, but when in Rome. Berlin. Whatever.”

Natasha refused to rise to the bait and instead explained the plan, if it could be called a plan, while Tony maneuvered the overly large track suit on over his armor and continued to look gleeful at his teammate’s discomfort.

The plan seemed simple and unlikely enough to work. Natasha’s Berlin contact was forging travel documents and they were to pose as a Norwegian track team participating despite the boycott. There was no denying the convincing physique of their “athletes”. Thor was dangerously close to bursting out of his athletic shorts and tank. Tony considered for a moment how many muscles the average human had, because _damn_ Asgard blew that number out of the water. The plan seemed a little sketchy on why they were in East Berlin to begin with, but to be fair the whole plan was sketchy.

Very _fake it ‘til you make it_ , just his speed.

There was more to the plan, because Clint was talking but Tony had stopped listening. Steve had ceased blushing and was standing in his best approximation of parade rest, ready to step into full Captain American mode. Next to him Thor was just plain distracting in a confirmed _I am a golden_ _god_ kind of way.

“Jane Foster is a lucky woman,” Natasha remarked in a low voice, making Tony choke and Clint scowl. Thor looked pleased at the compliment to his manliness as usual and Steve looked adorably embarrassed. “The uniforms are perfect.”

Steve instantly blushed again, this time to the roots of his hair. “Aren’t these a little indecent?”

They were, actually. The track uniform for the Norwegian team was comprised of tiny nylon shorts and a breathable tank top emblazoned with the Olympic sigil. Clint looked as uncomfortable as Steve; Thor on the other hand seemed delighted and was ready to enthuse about the wonders of shorts.

“These short pants would be a most impressive addition to my armor.” Thor’s booming voice seemed to reverberate through the tiny room, and Tony waited for Natasha to demand indoor voices- which for some reason she always did to him but never to the Asgardian. Clearly playing favorites and Thor was _everyones_ favorite.

Thor was still recounting the many virtues of his shorts. “The ease of movement and the command of air make this a magnificent uniform for the sport of track, my friends!”

He then looked at Steve for support. Steve gave him a pained smile, and if looked even more uncomfortable if possible. “They’re swell, I guess.”

“Well I, for one, think they are super,” Tony added. “Shame I couldn’t join the fun but that would just be showing off and I’ve always wanted to be someone who wears track suits. And purple. That guy.”

“Stark,” Clint growled. “Shut the fuck up.”

Tony mimed that he had his eyes on Clint, pointing two fingers at his eyes and then at the archer. Bruce looked amused, but Natasha did not. “Children, we are ready to mobilize. My contact said that rendezvous is at 14:00 hours.”

“Can I ask how you have a contact in 1980 East Berlin?” Tony asked as innocently as possible.

Natasha gave him a half smirk. “Cashed in a debt.”

“Have you even been born yet?” He knew better than to expect an answer, especially when Natasha gave him a feral smile. “Never mind. Let’s never travel to the past again, it makes no sense. This is ridiculous.”

“Ok, Iron Man.” Clink snarked. “Why don’t you and the Hulk go down first and then we’ll bring up the rear with the unfrozen WWII hero and the God of Thunder.”

“Touché. By the way, I don’t know if I already told you but those shorts really emphasis your petite stature.”

The archer visibly bristled. “One of these days, Stark.”

Amazingly they made it out of the seemingly deserted building without comment or calamity, until they reached the street level and the location of the contact’s provided means of transportation.

An incredibly tiny means of transporation.

Tony was, of course, the first to comment, taking a slow perimeter of the vehicle parked in the dingy alley. “Your contact provided a Trebant for six people, including Captain Tight Ass and Thunder Thighs over there? Clint, you’re riding with the luggage.”

“Stark, once we are in our own time I am going to murder you so help me,” Clint shot back, eyes casing the high vantage points of the surrounding buildings.

“No murder.” Somehow Steve managed to look authorities, even in tiny shorts and a perma-blush. The crossed arms and the patented _“I’m disappointed in you, possibly because you hate freedom”_ look plastered over his features. “We have to put bickering aside and follow Black Widow’s plan.”

“Killing him now won’t cause a paradox,” Natasha stated from half in the trunk of the car, where she was retrieving the doctored papers for their travel. “Hiding a body might prove difficult.”

“There will be no murder,” Steve repeated, pained. “We have to focus on the mission.”

Tony grinned, ready to push his luck because he could and Steve was such an easy target. “Have I told you how fetching you look in those shorts, Cap? I think you could stand to hear it again.”

Steve gave a long suffering sigh, and Clint clapped him on the back with a laugh. “And murder is back on the table. I call dibs.”

Inspecting the interior of the car through the glass, Tony looked dubious. “Maybe we could all fit if Clint didn’t need the booster seat, but safety first. Black Widow, maybe you could hold him on your lap? That’s what partners are for, right? Co-seating?”

 “You know what? Forget this bullshit. I’ll find my own way back.” Clint cast an eye around the area for egress and waved the rest of the team a jaunty goodbye before muttering, “There has to be an easier way than this shit show.”

With a one fingered salute aimed at Tony, Clint walked away scowling.

It was supposed to be a Saturday in the future, as well as his day off. Of all the things that Clint had imaged doing on his day off, escaping East Berlin in 1980’s nylon track shorts had not even crossed his mind. He should have known better than to discount any possibility. Between SHIELD, the Avengers and the circus he had learned early on that it was prudent to be adaptable.

Also self-reliant.

What was a giant wall, followed by barbed wire guarded by watchtowers full of snipers compared to hoards of Doombots, or mind control care of Loki, or even dating the Black Widow? Step one; scale the wall and make it to the west. Step two; burn the goddamned tracks shorts. Step three; gloat when he made it back before Stark. _They were the same god damned height!_

When Clint was out of sight, Tony considered the horrible plan unfolding in front of him. Despite his desire to see Steve flounder in a whole new time period, the desire to strand him there was greater. At least strand him for a while. A little stranding. Nothing permanent. Really.

Baby strand.

Tony jammed his hands into the pocket of his ridiculous track suit, and started walking backward down the alley behind Clint. This was an incredibly difficult maneuver in the both the Iron Man armor and the tracksuit. “You know, and I’m never going to say this again, but… Barton has the right idea. I’ve got a plan of my own. I’ll meet you guys in the American sector.”

“Tony,” Steve called, but he didn’t look back just kept up his swaggering gait and flashed a peace sign over his shoulder. “It would be better if we all stayed together.”

He kept walking. “See you when we get back to the future, ‘Cap!”

Seriously, how hard could it be to escape Berlin?

He was a genius, he had his suit and he could do stealth. He could do stealth all day long. How hard could stealth be? Wait for nightfall, base trajectory over the river and he’d be in the west with a martini in hand before any of Natasha’s Cold War machinations panned out.

So convinced of this he never noticed the cargo van that started tracking him the moment he left the alley, let alone the Black Widow signaling to the motor bike trailing the van.

Clint sulking hadn’t been the only thing pre-factored into the plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Checkpoint Charlie, Border Control and a little Hulk Smash.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. Breaking Up the Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha's plan goes to hell almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart, or do they come together? This chapter is my just go with it justification for crack!fic. Also, Steve is perpetually confused which is endearing.

The next step in Natasha’s plan went to hell almost immediately.

This surprised no one, not even Natasha.

“Travel visas and identity cards.”

The checkpoint guard spoke in English and seemed unconcerned with the state of the Trebant or the passengers of the tiny car. Natasha had everything in order and she passed documents through the open window to the guard. He considered their identity cards one by one before questioning their story.

Natasha’s papers he accepted without question, the others he scrutinized.

“You are with the Norwegian Olympic track team?” The guard nodded at their assent, then speared Steve with a critical look. “It states that you are the captain?”

Steve gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay relaxed. In the passenger seat Bruce looked close to his breaking point, he had to set an example before the Other Guy blew the charade all to hell. “Yes. I am the captain of the Norwegian track team.”

The guard looked at his documents again, turning his attention to Thor in the backseat. “What is your event, Herr Thorensonn?”

“Hammer throw,” Thor boomed. “The gold medal will be achieved, verily.”

With Thor’s size and confidence this was easily a believable story.

“And lastly,” he looked at Bruce skeptically. “You are the trainer?”

Bruce seemed to develop an eye twitch instantly. “Yes.”

The guard continued to spear Bruce with his gaze, as though he could sense his fear. “You are very nervous, Herr Banner. Is there something to be nervous about?”

“No,” Bruce replied firmly, hands fisting on the knees of his tracksuit.  The guard made a motion toward the guard tower and a second guard came trotting out towards the car.

“All of you please exit the vehicle.”

Natasha acquiesced at once, motioning for the others to follow. Steve and Thor exited at once, with Bruce seething right behind them.

The guard watched closely. “It seems that your story needs to be validated. Please remain next to the vehicle.”

It was a benign request, but Steve had no doubt that they were under heavy surveillance. Beside him Bruce had begun to mutter to himself, breathing heavily.

“He doubts my credentials as a track coach? That is the part of this that is suspicious, when we clearly don’t speak Norwegian?” Bruce clenched his fists and brought them down on the car hard enough to dent. “Norway doesn’t even officially participate in the 1980 Olympics!”

Steve put a hand on Bruce’s arm. “Dr. Banner...”

Bruce recoiled violently. “Don’t touch me!”

Then the shit hit the proverbial fan.

Eyes flashing green, Banner was slowly overtaken by his anger and his transformation from mild mannered track coach seething green rage machine seemed to progress in slow motion. Around them guards poured out of the outpost and shots were fired from by soldiers from both East and West. Steve and Thor ducked for cover just as the Trebant was removed from their side and flung through the checkpoint to clear the path.

Steve held Thor back from jumping into action as the plan was firmly derailed. Big and green, the Hulk just stomped through the neutral zone and into the West.

Within moments they were surrounded by armed guards and Natasha was nowhere to be seen. Steve and Thor were taken into custody, which in the chaos around them meant they were escorted into one of the guard shacks and held at gunpoint by two East German soldiers until they could be dealt with.

One hour later Natasha returned and with a few terse words in German dismissed the soldiers. Outside things seemed to have quieted down as though the appearance of the Hulk was being hushed up. How would they explain that away?

Natasha considered both Thor and Steve before shutting the door behind her. Thor looked surly at having been held at gunpoint but Steve was just relieved to see a friendly face. Natasha offered them a small smile, “Everything ok?”

“Everything is fine in here. Surely that created a paradox,” Steve muttered. “We’re all goners.”

Natasha shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. The Soviets take credit when the beast is never captured. We just need to sit tight; I’ve taken care of everything.”

“Surely, we are to battle over this insult,” Thor asked, alert and ready to enter the fray at the word of his leader. Even without Moljner the air seemed to crackle with latent electricity.

Steve smiled gamely. “Thor, this time the delicate approach might be the best plan.”

Thor considered his words. “Tell me more about this delicate approach. I am eager to hear what this means.”

They were interrupted before Steve had to explain what tact and stealth were to the God of Thunder.

The original checkpoint guard had returned along with a second guard who had their papers in hand. He looked uncomfortable. “You are cleared to go.”

The guard handed the visa card and passport back to Thor with a nod. “All of your papers are in order, Herr Thorensonn.”

“We can go?” Steve failed at trying not to sound surprised.

The guard shook his head. “You misunderstand. The Norwegian embassy as verified the credentials of Mr. Thorensonn and he will be put on the next flight to Moscow to join his team. The mix up with his papers was regrettable, but he has been cleared for travel.”

Thor looked to Natasha as the second guard motioned for Thor to follow him out of the room, presumably to go to the airport. Natasha gave him a small nod and Thor went along willingly.

Steve attempted to look neutral, despite everything going to hell around him. He took strength from the fact that as always Natasha looked unconcerned. “What about my papers, sir?”

The border agent did not look impressed. “Your travel visa is deemed invalid indefinitely. You are wanted for questioning by our friends in Moscow.”

Turning his eyes to Natasha, the guard smiled grimly. “He will be released into your care Frau Romanova. Your friends in the Red Room will be awaiting your report.”

Natasha nodded at the guard, her voice cold. “It will be done immediately.”

Taking Steve by the elbow, she led him back the way they had come and into the streets of East Berlin. They walked several blocks before a word was spoken and Natasha let him walk into step beside her without a guiding hand.

“This complicated things but there is no danger. I am going to need to keep your head down and eyes open. Barton and Stark need to be wrangled before things do get complicated and dangerous.”

 “Understood.”

Steve glanced down at his track attire and winced. “Is this a paradox, with Thor being sent to Moscow?”

Natasha gave him her most detached expression. Despite his history as a commander of men and protector of women, Steve always managed to feel small and vulnerable under the full weight of the Black Widows stare. In fact, Steve looked slightly panicked until Natasha shook her head and ghosted him a smile. “Sven Thorenson wins the gold in hammer throw and disappears into obscurity almost immediately.”

He blinked, digesting. “So you’re telling me that Thor is an honest to goodness Olympic gold medalist?”

“There are other powers at work here. Thor will be safe in Moscow until the timeline rights itself, and you will be safe as long as you stay unremarkable and out of harms way. I can’t trust Stark for any kind of subtlety in this situation.”

“And Clint?”

Natasha smirked. “Is probably already in the West and brooding over good German beer. Possibly plotting ways to harm Stark without pissing off Pepper or SHIELD.”

Steve smiled at that, Pepper was more formidable than SHIELD could ever hope to be. “What can I do to help?”

Natasha summarily instructed him to lay low, get some coffee and enjoy the sunshine. He had never been instructed to relax in a way that sounded like a military command before, but that was how he found himself wandering a public park pretending to have just come from a jog.

Nearing the river and a row of café’s, Steve set eyes on the last person, other than himself, he imagined to see in East Berlin in the year 1980.

“Loki.”

Steve considered the Asgardian who sat nonchalantly at the cafe overlooking the Spree nursing a half full beer. The super-villain looked disarmingly normal in a torn up Rolling Stones t-shirt, Steve thought Tony would be proud he’d recognized the logo, and distressed blue jeans. Loki regarded him back, nonplussed to the point of ennui. 

When it became apparent that the stare down wasn’t ending, Loki broke the silence with his most amiable smile. “Captain, it is ever a pleasure. Kaffe? Beir? Please join me.”

For a moment Steve was conflicted, but it had been a hell of a day. “When in Rome, right?”

Steve was grateful that his attire wasn’t mentioned, but it was entirely possible that Loki thought all human attire was odd.

Loki considered this without expression, motioning to the chair beside him. “As you say.”

This wasn’t the strangest situation he had found himself in this week, let alone his life, and he’d been frozen in ice for seventy years. Steve took the offered seat while Loki ordered him a coffee from a passing waiter. It was so mundanely normal, _too normal_ in the scheme of things.

Steve took a moment to gather his thoughts. The last thing he remembered before waking up in an unfamiliar past was being angry at Tony for missing the debriefing. He had gone to the Tower to take him to task and found the rest of the team in the basement workshop. They had been distressed by whatever Tony had been doing. _Very distressed_ , actually.

Tony had seemed even less enthused to see him than usual, which was odd since he had thought their relationship had been on the mend. The previous night before he had escorted Pepper to the opening of her college roommate’s Art Gallery uptown, they had been on good terms and joking. He hadn’t even been the butt of the jokes.

Complicated.

Tony was complicated, the future was complicated, and Steve understood that root of that problem was that he was essentially a simple guy. Right and wrong. Point and shoot. Tony Stark and time travel were too much for him in one day. How had they ended up in 1980?

They say that the simplest conclusion is usually the correct one.

“Of course,” Steve mused.

Loki looked up at his revelation, torn from whatever thoughts he had been pondering. He even looked vaguely interested.

Steve smiled wryly. “This whole time travel debacle isn’t your doing is it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Loki admitted, genuine regret in his mad blue eyes. “This particular absurdity lays blame to one of your own. Not Stark’s finest moment, if I may say.”

“I can’t say I am surprised,” Steve admitted, as he accepted his coffee from the returning waiter. “I tell Tony all the time that he will be the death of us all.”

The erstwhile villain seemed to be in agreement with that statement. Taking a sip of his coffee, Loki gestured for Steve to drink his own. “The slight misunderstanding regarding the Norwegians, on the other hand… That, well that _was_ my doing.”

Steve could accept the minor villainy; Natasha had after all assured him that it would all work out for the best. “Then why are you in Berlin?”

Loki shrugged. “For the atmosphere. A city in turmoil is a magnificent thing to behold, the potential for good and all the small evils at war with one another. It is irresistible.”

It took a while to digest this and a comfortable silence fell between the two. What a surreal day.

After a while, Steve mused, “I’m right about Tony killing us all. Tony is going to undo reality, isn’t he?”

Loki smiled a cold smile, reptilian in its insanity. “Oh, _most_ assuredly.”

He should have known that Tony would never do anything by a half measure- even time travelling. He just had to overshoot straight into world ending paradoxes.

“He is a most amusing mortal, with such total disregard for life and limb.” Loki grinned at the thought, tapping his long fingers against the table in front of him in a mad staccato. “Recklessness in one with such a short life span is quite diverting.”

“To the end of the world, I guess.” Steve raised his glass ironically.

Loki grinned manically and then raised his glass as well. “Prost.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: anti-aircraft artillery, Tony is wrangled and its time to pay the piper.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter: confusion, more confusion, many Soviet Russia jokes and the long awaited appearance of the nylon track shorts.


End file.
